


Eat What's in Front of You

by TheseusInTheMaze



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Age Play, Bratty Master, Coming In Pants, Cunnilingus, F/M, Feeding, Humiliating Dirty Talk, Mommy Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-10
Updated: 2020-10-10
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:06:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26939350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheseusInTheMaze/pseuds/TheseusInTheMaze
Summary: The Master is being cantankerous about his breakfast. The Doctor loses patience.
Relationships: Thirteenth Doctor/The Master (Dhawan)
Comments: 13
Kudos: 41





	Eat What's in Front of You

**Author's Note:**

> This whole fic is entirely Zaff's fault. <3

"I don't want this," the Master said, looking down at the plate of food in front of him. 

"What d'you mean, you don't want it?" The Doctor was drying her hands on a dishcloth and frowning over at him from her spot by the sink. 

"I mean I don't want it," he said. He kept eye contact with her, as he shoved the plate away from him. It rattled along the length of the table, and would have fallen off the edge if she hadn't grabbed it. 

"You _asked_ me to make you scrambled eggs," the Doctor said, and her voice was getting higher with indignation.

"I don't want it anymore," he said, and his tone was downright smug. He was grinning at her, his expression so self satisfied it made her hands itch. She wanted to punch him, she wanted to kick him, she wanted to -

The Doctor took a deep breath. No, she wasn't going to get anywhere by losing her temper. 

"We've done this three times already," she said. "I can't just keep making food for you to waste it."

"The TARDIS has infinite stores," the Master said. He crossed his arms over his chest and managed to look smug about it, even though he was wearing pajama pants printed with little rocket ships and an old sweater that had belonged to one of her previous incarnations. 

"I don't have time to endlessly make you food," she told him. _And I don't trust you not to cause trouble if I leave you alone with any kind of kitchen supplies_ , she didn't say. 

The implant in the back of his neck kept him from doing anything dangerous, but… well, there was a lot of space between "danger" and "trouble" and she had a feeling he would find every stop along it. 

“Well, I’m not eating that,” the Master said. He was pouting theatrically, and she resisted the urge to rake her fingers through her hair in frustration.

“Why not?” The Doctor drummed her fingers on the edge of the sink, and tried not to fidget. She didn’t want him to know just how much he was annoying her.

“Because I don’t want to,” he said, and then he actually _turned his nose up_ like a cat. 

“Why don’t you want to?” She knew, instinctively, that it was a lost cause, and yet she was still trying. 

“I just don’t,” he said loftily. “I want a sandwich.”

“I made you a sandwich earlier and you didn’t want that either. You said you wanted scrambled eggs, and you’re getting scrambled eggs. Eat what’s in front of you.” She stalked towards him, her coat flaring behind her, and she glared down at him. 

“Maybe if you would just figured out what I wanted, I’d eat it,” said the Master. “And look at me, going weak with hunger…” He did another theatrical pout.

“Fine,” the Doctor said, in a long suffering tone. She could feel something in her head going _ping_ , like a watch that had been overwound. 

“So you’re gonna make me a sandwich?” The Master perked up.

The Doctor grabbed a fork, and she brought the plate over. She took a forkful of scrambled eggs, and she held it in front of his mouth. “Here comes the airplane,” she said, in a condescending, cutesy voice that she’d use while feeding a baby, “up up the hangar!”

He glared at her, his scowl twisting his whole face up. “What are you doing?” 

“You’re acting like a small child,” she said, and she scowled back at him. “I said I’d treat you like one.”

“But this is…” He trailed off.

She held the forkful of eggs in front of him, and he kept glaring. 

“If you want to grow up to be a big, strong boy, you need to eat what’s in front of you,” the Doctor said brightly. “Will you be a good boy for Mummy?”

The Master stared at her, open mouthed. “What the _hell_ are you doing?”

She pushed the eggs into his open mouth, and he closed it. 

“Such a good boy, eating your breakfast,” the Doctor praised, and she was taking a little too much enjoyment out of this. 

He glared at her as he chewed. “This is hardly necessary,” he said.

“You’ve made it clear that you’re not gonna eat unless I do this,” she said. “You want to act like a stubborn little boy, so I’m going to _treat_ you like a stubborn little boy.”

He didn’t seem to have a response to that, and when she made eye contact with him and opened her mouth, he opened his wordlessly. 

“Such a good boy,” she cooed, and he glared harder. “Eating all your breakfast for Mummy.” 

He chewed, and she caught the edge of the thought flashing across his head. 

“If you spit it, I’ll get the baby food,” she warned. “Get you a proper bib, too.” 

“You don’t have baby food,” the Master said. “Why would you have baby food?”

“Baby food is just pureed food,” the Doctor said. “We’ve got blenders for days.” She took another forkful of scrambled eggs. “Do you want to be my big boy, or are you just Mummy’s little baby?”

He took the eggs, chewed, swallowed, took the next one. He was being cooperative now, almost unsettlingly cooperative, and it was putting her on edge. That usually meant he was plotting something.

“Since I’m being good,” he said with his mouth full, “I want a treat.”

“You’re _barely_ being good,” she countered, and he closed his mouth, wouldn’t let her put any more food in his mouth. 

“Are we seriously doing this?” She groaned, as he leaned himself back, still glaring. 

She sat on his lap, It was an impulse - a stupid one, but this whole thing was stupid. She straddled his lap, and he looked up at her through his eyelashes. 

“I want a treat,” he said again. He opened his mouth to the next fork of eggs. 

“Big boys don’t get treats just for doing what they’re supposed to do,” said the Doctor. 

“Maybe I’m not a big boy,” he said. 

There were almost no eggs left. 

“Don’t you want to be a big boy?” His hands were going to her breasts, holding on to them awkwardly. She let him, rolling her eyes internally. 

“No,” he said bluntly, and he grinned at her, all teeth and arrogance. 

How to even respond to that? 

“Well,” she said, and she gave him the last of the eggs. He chewed it, carefully, and he swallowed it down, licking his lips. 

“Well?” He raised an eyebrow. “Mummy,” he added, and the way he said it made her toes curl. Straddling him like this, she could feel him beginning to get hard, and it fed the spark that had already ignited at the base of her guts. 

“You ate all your breakfast,” she said, “so what would you like for your treat?” She pushed her hands away from her breasts, and he rolled his eyes, and pushed the hems of her t-shirts up. He tugged her shirts up, and he nuzzled his face into her cleavage.

“Mummy’s little baby is too little to use his words, then?” She rested her hands on his head, as his mouth found her nipple. He sucked on it, his eyes shut, and his cock pulsed against her thigh in his pajamas.

He made an annoyed noise, switched to her other nipple, and she let her head tilt back, her eyes sliding shut. Was this rewarding bad behavior? 

… it was probably a bad sign if she was thinking of him that way, but… she was fairly far gone, wasn’t she? 

His tongue flickered over her nipple, and he moaned, holding on tightly to her hips. He was rocking against her, little aborted thrusts of his hips. And then he gasped, going rigid, and there was a burst of warmth against her thigh, and he trembled against her. 

“Did you just…?” She pulled back, looking down into his embarrassed face. 

“Shut up,” he mumbled, avoiding eye contact. 

“It’s okay,” the Doctor said, in that same simpering, sweet tone. “Little boys have accidents all the time. I’m sure we can -” 

He lifted her up onto the table in one smooth move, and since when was he that _strong_? He wouldn’t be able to hurt her - the chip in his neck would see to that. But he was staring at her, so close that his breath was ruffling her eyelashes. 

He opened his mouth to say something, and then he closed it. Opened his mouth to say something else, then closed it again. 

“Mummy,” he said again, and his voice was very quiet.

“Be a good little boy,” the Doctor said, and her voice was just as quiet, “and do as Mummy tells you.”

“I can’t do as Mummy tells me,” the Master said. “Mummy hasn’t told me anything yet.” His hand went to her waist, unbuttoning her trousers. 

“Mummy already told you,” the Doctor said. She shrugged her braces off, and she awkwardly lifted her hips up, to let him pull her boxers and trousers off. They dangled off of one ankle, and he stood between her legs. “Eat what’s in front of you.”

The Master dropped down to his knees in front of her (the _thud_ made her wince - he had stronger knees than hers), and he spread her legs, his hands on her inner thighs. He looked up at her, through his eyelashes and his floppy hair, and her cunt clenched around nothing, low and sweet and desperate. 

“Be a good boy for Mummy,” the Doctor cooed, and he shuddered, his eyes fluttering shut. 

“Mummy,” he said quietly, and then he didn’t say anything, because he was pressing his face into her cunt.

The Doctor gasped, her fingers in his hair and her heels digging into his back. She rolled her hips forward, and she let her mouth fall open. “Good boy,” she mumbled. “Good boy, such a good…” 

He sucked on her clit, his tongue flickering over it, and one of his long, clever fingers slid into him. He pushed her legs open, and he kept llicking. It was all so _wet_ , it was making her melt, down into the table. She kept her hands in his hair, and she let him lick her and lick her, soft and wet and sweet.

She was already so close to coming, and why was she so close to coming? Sure, it had been nice to have him suck on her nipples like that, but... when she closed her eyes, she could hear him whispering “Mummy,” and she could remember the look on his face as he came. What if she made him beg her, made him call her Mummy as she rode his cock or fucked his arse, made him beg her. 

She was mumbling as he licked, and his tongue was so hot, so _wet_. Her toes curled against his shirt, and she began to shake. When she came, it was wet and sloppy, all over his face. She gasped out what might have been “good boy” and then he was up again, pressing his face into her neck, smearing her own arousal all over her soft neck. His stubble was ticklish, and he was whimpering. 

“Mummy,” he said quietly. “Mummy. Please.”

“Good boy,” she crooned, and it sent another little shockwave through her. “Good boy.”


End file.
